


Excellent Technician, For a Woman

by kijilinn



Category: Horror Express (1972)
Genre: Aftermath, Bratty Assistant, Doctor/Assistant, F/M, Gen, Gender Roles, Historical References, Medical Professionals, Older Man/Younger Woman
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-23 23:27:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20897879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kijilinn/pseuds/kijilinn
Summary: Dr. Wells returns to London and normal life in the aftermath of the fateful Trans-Siberian train ride that nearly claimed his life. Upon revisiting his medical office, he discovers that his previous assistant has managed to arrange for her own replacement: her niece, Max.Contains Spoilers for Horror Express.





	Excellent Technician, For a Woman

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lucifers_Trash_Stash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucifers_Trash_Stash/gifts).

Dr. Harold Wells stepped off the train and back into the world. Every time he got off a train now, he felt the same sense of homecoming, of returning to normalcy. Eight months had passed since the harrowing trans-Siberian train trip with Sir Alexander Saxton and his creature. While the nightmares had finally faded, the memory was not likely to give him peace any time soon. The same trip had seen the loss of his most excellent and capable assistant, Miss Helga Jones, and he had spent the last eight months struggling through a parade of increasingly unsatisfactory secretaries and medical interns. He had just dismissed the most recent the previous morning and wasn’t looking forward to sorting through his mail and specimens. His shock at finding the door to his office open when he arrived made him pause, one hand on the doorknob and the other clenching the handle of his umbrella tightly. After a moment of deliberation, he pushed the door the rest of the way open with his umbrella and carefully leaned in to call, “Hello? Is someone there?”

“I’m back here,” a female voice answered, and Harold blinked. Had he hired someone and forgotten? Maybe he did need a vacation that didn’t involve Manchurian fossils coming back to life. He closed the door behind him before making his way through the front office to the exam room and the filing room. The exam room was locked, but the entrance to the filing room stood open. “There’s a letter for you on the desk.”

Curious in spite of himself, Harold leaned to study the envelope centered on the blotter of his desk. His name and office addressed the envelope, written in Helga’s impeccable handwriting. He picked it up and slit it open using the letter opener, then tucked the length of silvered iron into the waistband of his coat, just in case. The paper inside appeared to match the cheap paper available in the rooms in the hotel where he and Miss Jones had spent the period of their study, nearly a year ago. “Dr. Wells,” he read, “I have left instructions with my niece to contact you in the rare chance that I may not write to her upon my return to London. In such a case, she will be without employment or financial means, as I have been supporting her through her education. It will also mean that you are without an assistant, and we both know, sir, how lost that would leave you. I assure you, Max is most capable in spite of her idiosyncrasies, and I expect you to get along perfectly. She has been educated in the medical sciences as well as basic secretarial duties: typing, shorthand, filing, etc. If you can overlook her oddness, I’m sure she can overlook your own. I regret that I am unable to deliver this recommendation in person, but it would appear that I have been detained in some rather permanent manner. Pray, allow her into your service, and permit her to take care of you. I believe you will be well suited. Most Sincerely, Helga Jones, RN.” 

“Well, of all the…!” Outrage stole the rest of his words, and Harold threw the letter down on the desk. Instead of storming into the filing room to throw out the unorthodox assistant his previous assistant had apparently conjured from beyond the grave, he found himself sitting down heavily in the chair, his elbows on the edge of the desk and his face in his hands. He remained there until something warmed his elbow, and he tilted his head to study the steaming cup of coffee. 

“I wasn’t sure if you liked cream or sugar,” the female voice said from behind him. Now that he had a frame of reference, he could hear Helga’s cadence in the words and speech. 

“Black is fine, thank you,” he sighed. He brushed irritably at his eyes with the heel of one hand, then took the cup and sipped. She made good coffee, at least. Helga had been a stocky woman some might consider mannish, and Harold himself found no-nonsense and well-mannered. He supposed her niece would be built along similar physical lines, and, given the brusque tone of her voice, she certainly favored her aunt in mannerism. “So Miss Jones was your aunt?” he said as he turned his head toward where he had last heard her voice.

The young woman standing beside the coffee service lifted her head, and Harold almost swallowed his tongue. He guessed her to be in her late twenties, her vibrantly auburn hair in a tidy chignon that allowed one slight curl to decorate her forehead without obscuring her vision. She was taller than Helga had been, though similarly built along a slightly longer line: generous hips and bust, sturdy legs, and a strong line to her jaw that hinted at some of her aunt’s stubbornness. And speaking of her legs…

“Good God, woman,” he cried as he turned his head away. “What are you wearing?!”

She looked down at the well-tailored trousers that covered her legs to mid-shin and were tucked neatly into the tops of her riding boots. “I believe they're called pants, Doctor.”

Exasperated, Harold glanced at her and away again. “I know what they are.”

“Then why did you ask?” The teasing lilt in her voice made him grit his teeth. “Oh, come now, Doctor. It’s not as if you don’t know what a woman’s legs look like.” She brushed past him, and Harold sat up straighter to lean away from her. She offered him a plate with a circle of biscuits on it. “Ginger snap?”

Harold glared up into her merrily smiling face and huffed out his breath before he took two of the biscuits and turned away again. “Your aunt’s letter suggested that you were unusual. A little more warning might have been appreciated.”

“I’m sure you can take it up with her while roasting sausages over a brazier in Hell,” she chuckled. At the stricken expression on his face, she seemed to think better of her words and stepped back. “I am sorry, Doctor. That was beyond rude.”

Harold pushed himself up from the desk and turned to face her, deciding it was time to use his superior height as much as possible to regain control of a situation he suspected he’d never been directing in the first place. “I should say so. Your aunt was an excellent woman of good breeding and character, as well as an exceptional technician—”

“For a woman,” the girl snorted.

“For anyone,” Harold said and was somewhat mollified to see the surprise on her face. “She was well-educated and intelligent. Moreover, she was insightful, and I greatly appreciated her candor in the laboratory.” He paused and watched as this strange new creature lifted her eyes to meet his. “I also greatly appreciated her friendship,” he added softly. “Helga was a good woman and greatly missed.”

“I…” She paused and then seemed to consider his words before nodding. “She was. And is. She was all the family I had left, you know.”

“So she indicated in her letter,” Harold sighed and waved a hand toward a chair. “Will you sit?” When he saw her seated with a cup of coffee and a biscuit, he resumed his chair facing her and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “She neglected, though, to tell me your full name.”

“Max Jones,” the girl replied. When Harold raised an eyebrow, she lifted her chin. “What? It’s my name.”

“Not Maxine? Or Maximilia?”

Max snorted and shook her head. “Just Max.”

Harold smiled. “And if I were to look in Miss Jones’ family Bible, I would see you listed there as ‘Just Max?’”

The mutinous glare she gave him ran his blood cold for a moment before she dropped her eyes and grumbled, “Gertrude. I hate it. Always have. Everyone’s called me Max since I was little.” She glanced up with a small, sad smile. “Aunt Helga started it.”

“Well, Miss Gertrude Jones,” Harold said and grinned when she glared at him. “Max. For the sake of your aunt, I would take you on if you’re suited to the position. If… uh, if you can answer me one thing.” He glanced around the office and looked at Max when she raised her eyebrows. “How the devil did you get in here?”

With a wink and a finger over her lips, Max lifted a set of lock picks and tucked them into the breast pocket of her jacket. “A girl’s got to have some secrets to herself,” she said with a grin, and Harold chuckled, shaking his head.

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by a recent Peter Cushing binge. If you haven't watched [Horror Express](https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0068713/?ref_=nm_flmg_act_40), I highly recommend it.


End file.
